SIA HEADQUARTERS, ABU DHABI, UAE—FEBRUARY 15, 2020—00:15 / 12:15 A.M. GST
It was mayhem outside the office where Nir and Nicole sat. SIA agents moved from room to room, had impromptu discussions in the hallways, and talked loudly on cell phones trying to be heard over everybody else.
Nir had asked for the early reports and was told at least 27 people were dead and local hospitals had taken in more than 60 wounded. Too many of those injured might not see the morning light. As members of the security agency passed the glass office walls, they often glanced in. It was hard to gauge what was behind their looks. Appreciation? Accusation? If there truly was indictment in their looks, Nir certainly couldn’t blame them. Those bodies were on his watch; they belonged on his tally sheet.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling. He’d turned off the overhead fluorescents a while ago—the glare of the fake light had been giving him a headache ever since he’d returned from that warehouse.
Despite their protests, he’d sent his ops guys to another part of the SIA headquarters, where the Emirati agents retreated when they needed a quick hour or two of sleep during those occasional days-long crises. It was set up with food, beds, and showers. Nir needed his men fresh just in case. Even though everything appeared to be over, appearances were often deceptive.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind’s eye he saw nets, gear, electronics, and body parts flinging high into the air when the missile hit that boat. Some pieces dropping right away, some floating, caught up in the light winds at elevation, but eventually, all the pieces returning to the water.
How had that one controller survived? There’s no way—it’s utterly impossible. Did it land on some floating debris or get driven into a stack of life preservers? It makes no sense! But somehow it happened. Somehow, however much it was mangled, one controller maintained its power. It kept its connection to the drone. And now dozens are dead, and dozens more will never be the same.
Someone bumped into the glass wall, causing Nir to start. Looking for the source of the noise, he caught sight of Nicole typing away on a keyboard. He had no idea what she was working on, and he couldn’t summon the energy to ask. Lifting his feet onto his temporary desk, he closed his eyes and sighed once again.
“It’s not your fault.”
Nir opened his eyes. Nicole had swiveled her chair toward him. Without answering, he tilted his head back toward the ceiling and closed his eyes for the third time. He didn’t want this conversation right now. He was at fault, and he wanted to feel every bit of his failure. The last thing he needed right now was her raining on his guilt parade.
“Think how many more would be dead right now if not for our intervention.”
Without opening his eyes, he said, “Isn’t that sort of like telling the judge, ‘You should be happy with me. So I killed those people. Think of all the other people I didn’t kill.’”
“That’s about the stupidest analogy I’ve ever heard.”
That reply got Nir to open his eyes.
Nicole went on. “You killed no one. Well, no one who wasn’t trying to kill other people. They did the killing. You saved lives.”
“Not enough.”
“As many as you could.”
Nir brought his feet down and hit the desk with his hand hard enough to cause people passing by to look in. “Tell that to the family of eight that was wiped out, Nicole. Tell it to that teenage kid who lost his parents and twin brothers. Tell that to the honeymooning guy who lost his new wife and both of his legs in one fell swoop. ‘Hey, sorry. I did what I could. Guess it just sucks to be you.’”
Nicole’s face reddened, but she found the strength to remain in control. “Nir, quit making this about you.”
His anger flared. He opened his mouth to lash out, but then he closed it again. Leaning back, he returned his feet to the desktop, tilted his head up toward the ceiling, and once again closed his eyes. Man, how I hate it when she’s right.
“You can’t save everyone, Nir. You’re not God.”
That triggered a thought, and he looked at her. “Which begs this question, my dear. Where was God?”
He could see that her mind had started racing, and there was anxiety in her eyes. She’d just stepped into a trap of her own making. The nice thing would be to back off. But he wasn’t feeling all that nice tonight. Besides, maybe he could finally put this whole God thing to bed once and for all.
“Seriously, Nicole, where was God? I know you’d been praying. Why didn’t He save them? What had all those dead people done to deserve being shredded by nails and ball bearings? Were they the bad people and the ones who were saved were the good ones?”
“I don’t think they were the bad ones.”
“Then were they the good ones?” He leaned back in his chair, feeling in complete control of the debate now. “That would make it even worse. What use is it being good if that just makes God want to stick it to you even more?”
Nicole sat silently processing her answer. Normally, she was very confident, but Nir could see she felt totally outgunned. A twinge of guilt passed through him, but, still, he pressed on.
“If you think it was God’s intervention that saved all those lives, then why didn’t He save everybody?”
Nicole closed her eyes. Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Nir was really starting to feel like a jerk. He wasn’t being fair to her. He was about to let her off the hook, but then she opened her eyes and spoke, her tone soft but firm.
“When I went to see Christiaan after Iran, he and I were talking about all the changes he’d gone through. I didn’t get it, so I asked him basically the same question you just asked me. But I was asking in the context of salvation—you know, forgiveness of sins and eternal life and that sort of thing. I didn’t think it was fair that God wouldn’t save everybody so that everyone could go to heaven. It’s weird how clearly I can picture this. We were sitting on the couch in his living room. Jozette had taken the kids back home, so it was just Christiaan and me. I remember what I asked him word-for-word. ‘If God is so loving, then why doesn’t He save everybody?’ You know what his response was?”
Nir let the question hang.
“He said, ‘You’re asking the wrong question, Nicole. The question isn’t why He doesn’t save everybody. The question is why He saves anybody.’”
Nicole paused to let the question sink in. Nir wondered if she was expecting him to respond, but she looked like she wanted to continue. He waited her out.
“Christiaan went on to say that most of us view God like some kind of genie in a lamp. When we’re in trouble, we rub, rub, rub on the lamp, then out He pops. We tell Him what we want, and we expect Him to do exactly what we ask. But if that were true, who would be running this universe? God or us?”
“Us,” Nir answered, surprised at his sudden interest in the conversation.
“Exactly, which wouldn’t go too well.” She looked to the floor and smiled. “Christiaan said if he were the one running the universe, the earth would have already flown off its orbit, bounced off of a bunch of other planets like a pinball, and gone rolling into a black hole.”
Nir chuckled at the illustration. He liked this guy. “I need to meet your brother someday. Sounds like he and I are a lot alike.”
“You kind of are. Anyway, the point is that the world would be a huge mess if we made all the decisions. So we trust those decisions to God. There are both pros and cons to that. The biggest con is that He won’t always do things the way we think He should. The number one pro is that because He’s a perfect God, whatever He does is always right, even when it doesn’t feel like it to us.”
Here’s where he always began floundering with God. That sounded like the same old angry, petty Creator. “If I understand what you’re saying, essentially God’s answer to why He didn’t save everybody is ‘Shut up. I’m God.’ Sounds a lot like what I remember hearing about Job, growing up.”
Nicole grimaced. “Yeah, the way I said it does kind of sound like that. Give me a second to think.”
Nir gave her some space. What she was saying was pretty thought-provoking, but, again, it sounded a lot like what he’d heard his whole life. It was God’s way or the highway. He set the rules, and He just waits for someone to break them. God is happiest when He has a butt to kick.
Nicole interrupted his train of thought. “Where what you said is off, I think, is that it doesn’t take into account God’s love. Somewhere in the New Testament it says that God is love. He doesn’t just love; He is love. That’s what brings us back to Christiaan’s original question. Why does God save anybody? He doesn’t have to. He survived fine without us before. He could survive fine without us again. But He doesn’t want to. Why? Because God is love, and He wants someone to pour out that love on. That someone is us.”
For the first time in his life, he’d heard an answer to his questions that made sense. “Okay, I’m getting it a little more. But the question still remains, why does He save some and not others?”
“That’s what I was finally coming around to. I just had to remember how Christiaan got there. Because God is love, everything He does stems from that love. So rather than Him answering our questions with ‘Shut up. I’m God,’ He answers with ‘Trust Me. I love you.’”
Nir mulled over her words. He liked what she had to say, but it was still hard to accept. It was bumping up against everything he’d ever understood about who God was.
“Nicole, I’m a Jew.”
“Wait, what?”
Nir laughed. “Very funny. What I mean is, as a Jew, I know the God of punishment, vengeance, and wrath. This lovey-dovey, touchy-feely God is a New Testament invention. It’s like He went to an anger management class and has been reformed from His old ways.”
It was Nicole’s turn to laugh. “I like that picture. Sounds like it could be an old Far Side cartoon. One day I watched this preacher on YouTube. His message title was something like ‘Reforming the God of the Old Testament’ or ‘A New Look at the God of the Old Testament’ or something like that. But what he said was interesting. He said that whole thing about the God of the Old Testament being the angry God and the God of the New Testament being the loving God is a bunch of crap—not his exact word. But when you look at the prophets, sure, there’s a lot of judgment there because the people were being nasty and sinful. Like a parent with a kid, there needed to be discipline.
“But here’s the other thing he said you find, especially with those same prophets. When there was a promise of major discipline, there was usually a promise of forgiveness and reconciliation and restoration as well. Again, just like with a kid. You discipline them, but you never stop loving them.”
There was a knock on the door, and Nir waved in a man in a kandura.
“I apologize for the interruption. Director Al Rashidi has asked that you both join him in his office.”
“Of course.” Nir stood with a groan. His body was exhausted, and his legs were stiff. Nicole stood as well but much more gracefully.
He took her arm. “Thank you. I was in a dark place and needed a little perspective. What you said makes a lot of sense. I promise I’ll keep thinking on it.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Then she leaned into him for a brief moment.
“Please,” the Emirati said, inviting them out with his hand.